"Mentor, I don't understand. How exactly will he hurt me?"
Calliphone tilted her head slightly, a flicker of confusion and curiosity in her eyes.
She and Perturabo had tacitly agreed to accept that Caelan could foresee the future.
"He will take your life."
"But why?"
"Because he will be emotionally shattered."
The Olympian rebellion wouldn't have led Perturabo to kill his closest family. He killed because he was emotionally shattered.
The Master of Mankind came to Olympia in person, seeking the son He cherished.
In Perturabo, He saw unyielding will and unshakable resolve.
He believed his son would never yield, never retreat, never give up, no matter what hardships he faced; his son would overcome them.
For Perturabo, both the tedious and thankless drudgery and the glorious, honorable victories were trials to be overcome. Neither could be shirked.
Having witnessed Perturabo's noble qualities, the Emperor entrusted him with the most arduous tasks.
This wasn't the Emperor underestimating his value. On the contrary, the Emperor believed no one else could bear such heavy burdens.
Yet Perturabo consistently chose the most difficult paths, carrying out the Emperor's missions in a manner that bordered on self-mortification.
This self-torment gradually evolved into a pathological martyr complex.
He trudged among the people with his scarred, exhausted body, thrusting his bloodied wrists before everyone's eyes, as if silently crying out, "Look! Look at what I've suffered for you!"
But his sharp-edged pride simultaneously erected insurmountable barriers. Any deliberate care would shatter against those cold walls.
What he craved wasn't applause under the spotlight, but people's spontaneous exclamations of awe, "Look! That's the great Perturabo! See how he uncomplainingly and silently bears burdens beyond imagination!"
Calliphone had mercilessly torn open the truth he least wanted to face, precisely exposing the most unbearable aspect of his soul.
In his rage, he murdered the only person in the world who understood him and loved him.
As if killing Calliphone would also make his vulnerability disappear.
But until her final moment, what appeared in Calliphone's eyes wasn't fear or hatred, but an almost gentle compassion.
This pity emotionally shattered him more than any condemnation. Even in death, she pitied him.
Remorse gnawed at his heart like a venomous snake. But primarchs were both proud and twisted. How could he admit his mistake?
So he blamed everything on others. Calliphone had rebelled, which is why he killed her; the Emperor wouldn't forgive him, which is why he betrayed the Imperium.
Anyway, it wasn't his fault.
He fabricated countless self-deceptive excuses, building high walls of lies to protect his shattered self-esteem.
But it was his self-esteem that he himself had trampled!
Some of the toughest, most grueling battles were assigned by the Emperor, but many more he took on voluntarily.
He yearned for recognition this way, yet consistently failed to display convincing talent, always appearing defeated.
His brothers could always turn the tide in desperate situations, creating legends of the weak overcoming the strong, the small defeating the large. The Fourth Legion's tactics, however, were unusually rigid, with almost no strategies beyond large-scale frontal assaults and firepower saturation.
The Fourth Legion had no shortage of capable commanders. This rigid tactical style was deliberately cultivated by Perturabo.
Under his leadership, the Fourth Legion pursued Pyrrhic victories that sacrificed one thousand of their own to kill eight hundred of the enemy.
Perturabo didn't want clean, decisive triumphs. He insisted on watering honor with blood, as if heavier casualties proved greater loyalty.
But people always gravitate towards the light. When all praise flowed to his brilliant brothers, he sank deeper into the shadow of being forgotten.
Tragically, the more overlooked he was, the more extreme he became.
The longer the applause was delayed, the more he turned Pyrrhic victories into medals of honor.
Every Pyrrhic victory of the Fourth Legion was a silent accusation, "Look, look at how much we've sacrificed. Isn't this enough?"
He was like a man falling into an abyss, desperately wanting to be saved, yet twisting the rescue rope into a noose.
He could have been worshipped by the world in a glorious manner, but instead, he chose to appear battered and bruised, begging for pity.
This approach wasn't impossible; after all, the squeaky wheel gets the grease.
But Perturabo also insisted on being hard inside and out. Even when wronged, he'd grind his teeth and swallow it.
His entire life was permeated by the word 'twisted.' It was his motto, "See? The world does owe me!"
When Perturabo was fixated on Pyrrhic victories, the Emperor shouldn't have praised him; he should have rebuked him sternly.
Indulgent praise would only intensify his behavior. Only a sharp wake-up call could possibly make him see clearly!
Dammekos had ordered his guards to wait outside the tower. When he pushed the door open, he paused briefly, his voice tentative, "Perhaps I've come at a bad time?"
Dammekos's caution wasn't unfounded. The atmosphere in the room was particularly heavy. All three were lost in their own thoughts, silent.
Perturabo was speculating about why his future self would be emotionally shattered. Calliphone was curious about what would happen. Caelan remained silent, giving them time to think.
Only Perturabo was truly struggling.
Caelan made a proposal to Dammekos, "Dammekos, from now on, let Calliphone study with me. Perturabo needs a study companion."
"Isn't she already standing here?"
Dammekos's tone was both indulgent and helpless. He had come precisely for Calliphone.
"You are her father. I need your consent."
Seeing that Caelan insisted on waiting for his formal approval, Dammekos smiled. "In that case, as her father, I will make this decision. It is Calliphone's honor to be personally instructed by you."
Both parties tacitly maintained each other's dignity. Caelan gave the Tyrant the respect he deserved, and Dammekos took the opportunity to make this a favorable arrangement.
If the Tyrant insisted on refusing, he would only lose face.
Dammekos looked warmly at Calliphone. "Calliphone, this is a gift from Ananke. Seize this opportunity. Do not disappoint Caelan's expectations."
"Father, I will heed your words."
Perturabo suddenly looked up, "Who is Ananke?"
A flicker of surprise crossed Dammekos's eyes. 'How could this child not even know the gods?'
Calliphone's voice remained gentle, "Ananke is the goddess of fate. She is one of the gods, weaving the destinies of all living beings on Telephassa."
Perturabo asked, "Have you seen these gods?"
Calliphone slowly shook her head, "No."
"Has anyone seen them?"
Calliphone answered, "They exist only in legends."
Dammekos smiled, "The divine realm and the mortal world are independent yet overlapping domains. They are different but influence each other. The gods do not easily descend from the mountain, so mortals naturally have no chance to see them."
Dammekos's gaze lingered on Caelan for a moment. He always suspected Caelan might be an emissary of the gods.
Perturabo stubbornly denied, "There are no gods!"
Dammekos's smile froze. Even as a Tyrant, he might not be pious towards the gods, but he dared not blaspheme so openly.
Perturabo perceived Dammekos's thoughts. He stubbornly turned to Caelan, "Do you believe in those ethereal gods too?"
Caelan shook his head, "Gods are not worth believing in."
Perturabo's expression softened slightly. Though he sensed there was more to Caelan's words, they were in agreement that humans should not believe in gods!
He couldn't prove gods didn't exist, just as Dammekos couldn't prove they did.
But that didn't shake his conviction; there were no gods!
It was a belief transcending reason, overriding logic. And he was certain it was the truth!
Dammekos had no intention of debating the existence of gods with them. He couldn't win either the argument or the fight.
He was a Tyrant, not a priest.
Dammekos unfastened a jeweled golden dagger from his belt and offered it to Perturabo. "Perturabo, this is a gift for you."
Perturabo didn't reach for it. A hint of doubt flickered in his eyes, "Why give this to me?"
Dammekos was momentarily stunned. 'Did there need to be a special reason?'
Caelan said, "He has amnesia. You must tell him personally what this gift signifies."
"You're putting me on the spot!"
Dammekos sighed helplessly. He looked down at the boy's stubborn eyes, still seeking answers.
In that instant, something seemed to touch Dammekos, compelling him to be honest about his feelings.
Dammekos leaned slightly. "Because from yesterday onward, you are my child."
"I know you still have doubts, and that you don't yet see me as a father. You think I'm adopting you just to use you. I won't deny that your abilities have given me the ambition to unify Olympia."
"Our relationship may start with mutual interest, but I will try my best to look at you with a father's eyes."
"I cannot promise a bond that is purely familial, without any selfish motives."
"But..."
Dammekos took a deep breath. He was an eloquent Tyrant, often debating nobles and priests in the council hall. But now, he found himself at a loss for words.
His decision was driven by genuine fondness for Perturabo, and also by the desire to curry favor with Caelan.
But revealing his heart still made him feel a strange embarrassment. He had never been so emotionally open, even with his own children.
Dammekos simply laid the dagger flat in his palm and extended it a half-inch with solemnity.
He knelt on one knee, meeting the eyes of his future child.
If he couldn't say it, he'd put it in the kneeling.
It was nothing to kneel; this was his child. It wasn't shameful.
Perturabo silently watched the golden dagger offered before him. The jeweled golden scabbard shimmered with a beautiful halo in the sunlight.
He could clearly feel Dammekos's sincere feelings now, just as clearly as he'd felt the undisguised greed yesterday.
Two entirely opposite emotions, yet both genuinely coming from the same person.
Perturabo's fingertips touched the cool scabbard. The unfamiliar address stumbled out, "Thank you, Fa... father."
Dammekos remained in his kneeling position, offering the dagger. When that hesitant 'father' came, the usually composed Tyrant trembled visibly.
"I, the ministers are waiting in the council hall. I must go to them."
Dammekos rose hastily, his voice unnaturally tight. He left without any of his usual majesty.
A barely suppressed smile tugged at the corner of Calliphone's lips, making the Tyrant almost awkwardly avoid her gaze.
Calliphone covered her smile, "Father fled. This is the first time I've seen him so flustered."
Perturabo gently stroked the golden dagger, still holding the warmth of his father's palm.
A father like this, while not the best, didn't seem so bad.
"Humanity is the sum of contradictions. Dammekos wants to use your abilities to achieve his ambitions, but he will also genuinely pour paternal love into you."
The Tyrant was a foolish despot.
He was a caretaker, not a restorer.
Lacking both strength and wisdom, he was merely a barely adequate ruler.
But his heart wasn't bad towards Perturabo.
He initially only wanted to use Perturabo, but even a pet develops feelings after more than a decade, let alone a person. Unfortunately, Perturabo rejected every attempt at love. The Tyrant was furious.
Their conversations became harsh, filled with veiled insults and barely concealed criticism.
But the Tyrant always regretted his sarcasm, and Perturabo would brood over the insult for weeks.
If the Tyrant had been as frank every time, their relationship wouldn't have deteriorated so badly.
Perturabo once had the chance to become like Guilliman, but he turned himself into a twisted mess, worse than Corax.
Even the Tyrant could see Perturabo's flaw; he was as skilled at escaping as he was at everything else.
Perturabo asked, "So your humanity is that you want to educate me and also make fun of me?"
"Entertainment is part of education."
Calliphone blinked.
Perturabo sneered, "Hah, I think you're just training a dog!"
Caelan slowly leaned down, meeting Perturabo's eyes, "Perturabo, do you know why the dog I raised died?"
"Because you didn't treat it."
"You're wrong. He died because he couldn't express himself!"
"If he had told me he was sick, I would have saved him even if it cost everything. But he didn't speak. He only used ambiguous, obscure hints. Who would have known he was sick? I'm not a god."
Calliphone thought, 'Asking a dog to talk is a bit much, isn't it?'
'But then again, if my dog could talk, I'd probably rack my brains to save it, too.'
'But was Brother Caelan really talking about a dog?'
'Probably not. Otherwise, why use 'he'?'
Perturabo was silent for a long time before looking up, "Where's my gift?"
Caelan's forehead vein throbbed, "I'm your mentor, and I have to give you gifts too? Traditionally, you should be giving me a teacher's gift!"
Perturabo stubbornly said, "I will prepare a teacher's gift. What about my meeting gift?"
Caelan was stumped, "Is there still time to prepare one now?"
The boy crossed his arms and snorted, "Too late. But I'll give you a week to make up for it."
"One week isn't enough."
"Then two weeks."
"Even a month might not be enough."
"You've got enough!"
Caelan sighed helplessly, "Alright, give me a week to think about what to give you."
Perturabo suddenly asked, "Did any of my other brothers ask you for gifts?"
Caelan slowly shook his head, "No. Otherwise, I would have been prepared."
Hearing this, the corner of Perturabo's mouth unconsciously lifted, "Good. Looks like I'm the first."
Calliphone blinked. 'He has to be first in this too?'
'But who were the brothers Perturabo was talking about?'
'Couldn't be Herakon and Andos. They were certainly outstanding among their peers in Lochos, but Perturabo wouldn't compare himself to them.'
'They weren't worthy.'
Calliphone wasn't belittling her brothers; she was just stating facts.
Andos's artistic talent was astonishing; perhaps he could rival Perturabo.
But Herakon, Calliphone couldn't think of any talent he had.
Perturabo asked, "Am I still the worst?"
"Your education isn't finished yet. It's hard to say."
Perturabo rephrased, "Are my brothers all exceptional?"
"Unparalleled."
"Which one?"
"Every one."
"Then what about me?"
"Your twistedness is unparalleled. Only your mother comes close."
Perturabo's fists clenched, his knuckles white. "One day, I will become truly unparalleled!"
He would be as unique as his brothers!
Calliphone was confused, "Mentor, is my mother very twisted?"
Caelan replied, "I meant his biological mother."
Surprise crossed Calliphone's face, "His biological parents are still alive?"
"It's probably hard for them to die."
A flicker of complex emotion passed through Calliphone's eyes. "Then what are we?"
She had always thought Perturabo was an orphan. This sudden realization made her heart tighten slightly.
Since Perturabo's parents were alive, he would leave eventually. So what was this family?
Though she had only known Perturabo for a day, their bond wasn't deep.
But being treated as a substitute was like a tiny thorn, silently pricking her heart.
Caelan reached out and gently pinched the girl's soft cheek, a gentle smile in his voice,
"You are substitutes. But don't feel sorry for yourselves. Trust me, substitutes are far more delicious than the main course!"
The main course may look decent, but one bite and you spit it out. It's hard to swallow; your body and mind reject it. You'd starve relying on the main course. Better to have compressed biscuits!
Substitutes are much more delicious. They're all specialty dishes from across the galaxy, sweet, fragrant, rich in texture, each with its own charm.
Especially the substitute for a mother. Even a non-human can be more human than a human.
"My mother is an ungrateful little brat. Then what kind of person is my father?"
"Your father is a legendary hero. One day, he will come for you in golden armor on auspicious clouds."
Perturabo engraved these words deep in his heart. From Caelan's certain tone, he could clearly feel that this father he had never met held such a high place in Caelan's heart!